Domesticity
by Bobbie
Summary: Heroes and home life, and the perils of attempting normality. Cloti.
1. Chapter 1: normal

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. Thank you, Square Enix.

AN: So, another quick something I pieced together, set post-ACC. I'm not trying to mold a universe, here, just want to get it out of my head.

* * *

_"I suppose we're no good at facing the memories. We'd rather gild the past…find something worthwhile among the rubble and build something with that."-Rufus Shinra_

**Normal**

Back to normal, again. Whatever normal was. She fought to define everything nowadays. It made breathing, existing, a little easier. Maybe not.

Normal was raucous nights, but not for her, always someone else. Lost in smoke, and booze, and breathy come-ons carried on the stale stench of cheap whiskey.

Normal was remembering why she put up with having to wipe away some drunken slob's spit between emptying overflowing ashtrays and clearing dirty dishes. Behind closed lids she sees peaceful sleeping faces, a boy and a girl. Vicarious wishes she hopes come true.

_Hope: n., a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen._

She didn't know where it came from, but there it was. She held to it with all her might, and she was so very strong. Perhaps not as strong as some people thought she was, but she didn't let on. She had too much to risk.

Normal was laundry, and scrubbing floors, and making beds, kissing boo-boos, telling nighttime stories, knowing where everything was and reminding everyone of what needed to be done, and when.

Normal was monotonous, and welcome, and needed…

…and _lonely_.

Normal was clutching so very tightly to wisps of memories from another life, under the stars, in a mountain town, making promises that were supposed to be innocent and so very easy to keep because she'd never really be in that sort of pinch, right?

Normal was keeping this all to herself.

* * *

"Marlene needs a new lovey, I think."

Normal is starting every conversation with another adult using the children as the main topic.

She hears him pause in his ministrations behind her before his solid footfalls…one, two-

She spins to show him what she means before he can come closer. Stuffing erupts from the seams at the arm and along the back, one button-eye hangs precariously by a thread.

He leans in, one bare hand reaching out to finger a loose thread.

Normal is fighting not to stare too long or too hard when he was near. Normal is willing him not to notice the hitch in her breathing when his eyes met hers instead of the floor.

"Defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

Normal is to not be surprised when he actually says something back. Because that's what normal people do when they have a conversation.

Normal is a poker face, without ever playing poker. "Oh?" Her voice couldn't have sounded any more distracted as she let him have the stuffed toy for closer perusal, turning to gather more laundry from the dryer.

Normal is desperation sheathed in nonchalance. She kept her back to him as she held up a t-shirt, folding it deftly as her teeth worried her bottom lip, counting the seconds until he spoke again. God, please let him speak again.

She hears him moving again, and sneaks a peek over her shoulder as she bends to fetch another garment. He's leaning against the countertop at the back of the bar, cradling the doll gently, turning it this way, then that. "It's an easy fix. She won't want another." He places the doll on the bar top and asks casually, "You have a kit?"

She smiles, a practiced one, the one she saves for him that tells him she's okay with this (laundry and cleaning and mothering and _normal_), and answers with a question. "A first aid kit?"

"No," he answers, almost too seriously, brow pensive, "a sewing kit."

Normal is being pleasantly surprised, not shocked into silence. Normal is a yes or a no. She can't conjure it.

"What?" He's on the defensive now. Her knee jerk is a quick shrug and a toss of her head before turning back to the task at hand.

Normal is a lot of unbearable silence. She wonders if he can feel it.

"I thought you'd…" His voice trails off, and she stops, but only for a second.

Normal is silently recording every word said for future reference. Finish it, for once, and she's not sure if she's said that out loud, is hoping she hasn't, but then-

"You…yours was a chocobo. White. Well, once white. I think your dad got that doll, you remember the one? With blue eyes? I think he got it just so he'd have a reason to throw the other away."

Her back is ramrod straight, and she forgets normal, her wide eyes catching the ghost of a smile as he retells this memory, the laundry forgotten. She's afraid to move, afraid to break this spell. She tells herself if he doesn't talk again for a month, six months, those few sentences will be enough to last her for a thousand nights up to her elbows in dirty dishwater. He glances up then, and for one brilliant shining moment they are both eight years old again in Nibelheim.

He breaks away first, but she remains motionless, arms limp at her sides as he slowly walks his way back to her, and she thinks how silly they must both look-she in black leather, he in riding gear and the hodge-podge mix of ex-SOLDIER regalia-surrounded by laundry against the bland backdrop of an empty bar. She's not aware that her eyes have moved to his mouth when he speaks, and they quickly dart up to meet his, only to find his gaze fixed to the floor. "I'll pick up a kit between deliveries today. Leave it on my desk, and I'll have it ready before bedtime."

Normal, she tells herself, be normal.

"Okay." Her voice is soft, but unwavering, and with that, it's over, and he's pulling on his gloves, walking out the back. She hears Fenrir start up, waits until the engine revs and fades. She walks slowly to the bar, reaching up to grab the doll he'd left, thumb caressing the threadbare material thoughtfully.

Normal shouldn't be such a miracle. But it is.

* * *

Normal is a lot of waiting.

She remembers how much she used to hate it. How impatient and impetuous she used to be.

She glances at the clock next to her bed, hears a familiar engine whine in the distance. Closer, closer…she knows the series that follows.

This wait isn't so bad. It's right up there with waiting for the kids to get home from school, and waiting for the last customer to cash in.

_Wait: v., to stay where one is or delay action until a particular time or until something else happens._ To have expectations.

Maybe even great ones.

She isn't sure what "actions" she's delaying. She hopes she'll know when the "something else" happens. Whatever that is.

She turns off the light and crawls into bed as she hears Fenrir pull into the garage.

Normal is having pleasant dreams, even if you can't remember exactly what they are in the morning.

* * *

Normal is sitting down together for meals, like a real family.

She finishes her coffee and toast alone. She is usually the last to bed, the first to rise. Most normal mothers are.

Later, as she is braiding Marlene's hair, listening to the girl chatter endlessly about an ongoing school project, she is drawn by the soft intonations of his voice as he and Denzel finish their breakfasts.

Normal is adoring the conversations between this man and this boy, parables and proverbs of the utmost simplicity. Normal like this is mesmerizing and precious.

"…but…but I feel so bad…for, for everything. With all that's happened, I still have you guys. She's got no one." Denzel stares sullenly at his plate, cheek against fist, fork tapping and scraping his plate listlessly. He doesn't wait for a reply. "I just…she was so nice to me, even when I was sick."

Marlene is blissfully unaware of the exchange occurring just a few feet away, holding a red ribbon up in the air by her ear patiently as she talks on. The subject has changed, soft "ohs" and "uh-huhs" politely interspersed between her prattle, gently coercing her details and feeding her excitement with the reassurance of an audience, albeit a distracted one.

"I never know what to say to her, Cloud. I want to thank her, for trying to help me, for being at the church, for…being my friend." He puts down his fork then, resigned to not cleaning up his plate, apparently. Certainly not normal, but forgivable.

She takes the ribbon from Marlene but slowly. She is desperate to hear this to its completion, her stomach knotting with premonition. She has the sudden almost irresistible urge to shush Marlene into silence, frowning as she works on tying a perfect bow.

Normal is being a part of the conversation, even when you aren't doing the talking.

There is an extended silence, and a frustrated sigh from Denzel before he gets up from his seat to move about the room, shouldering his backpack begrudgingly. She can't help but be a little disappointed, wishing she'd heard what he'd said before she started listening in. She realizes then that Marlene has quieted then, and is watching Cloud expectantly.

Perhaps she wasn't the only one eavesdropping.

She finishes the braid just has Marlene takes a breath to speak, but it's Cloud's voice that she hears, and she swears her heart skips a beat. Once again, not normal, but it can't be helped.

"Denzel…words-" There's a hitch, almost as if he knows she's listening, and _oh, no, oh, no, oh, no…_

"…Words aren't…" A deliberate pause, she's sure of it this time, and she has stopped breathing because she doesn't want to ruin this, and besides, the air is entirely too heavy to take in as he suddenly shifts his gaze up to meet hers, and she is caught, caught, caught.

"…the only thing that tell people what you're thinking." His voice, she notices, is so, so soft, like a prayer, a supplication. She wants to escape suddenly, but he holds her there with his eyes. The atmosphere has changed so that even the children are aware; peripherally, she sees Marlene gaze upon her curiously before glancing back to Cloud, and she knows Denzel is doing the same. One of them is going to have to move, to speak, to do something, but she is trapped, immobile, unable or unwilling to act, she isn't sure. She only knows that it's been a very long time since she has felt the way she does right now.

Anything but normal. Anything but ordinary.

And then it's over, and he's turning from her to look at Denzel over his shoulder. "Perhaps you could do something for her."

It's as if the world is turning again. Marlene bounces over to Denzel, bubbling over excitedly as she clutches his arm, as if to transfer some of her excitement, proposing cards and homemade gifts and maybe you could make her a cake!

She's taken the opportunity to suck in a breath, not too loudly, she hopes, fighting not to hold a hand over her chest, feeling the blood hum in her ears as she turns her back to them all, making as though to busy herself with something in the kitchen.

Normal is using chores as psychotherapy.

Silence descends upon the bar not long after that, as the children rush out to walk the few blocks to school. But the silence is not comfortable, and she is struggling to find something, anything to distract her from the memories that are threatening to envelope her…the sink is empty, the floor is annoyingly clean, the laundry is upstairs and she doesn't have the courage to go back out there just yet…

She hears the sound of a chair scooting softly across the polished floor, and in a panic throws open the pantry door…inventory, she can do inventory, although orders usually aren't placed until Monday, but-

Normal is wanting and not wanting something at the same time.

She reaches for the light, the click a staccato gunshot, and she is relieved that she doesn't flinch. The shelves are full, taunting her. She is acutely aware that his words had been meant for her, and she suddenly realizes that she has not responded that way she should have.

She emerges from the kitchen to find the bar empty.


	2. Chapter 2: extraordinary

AN: For disclaimer, see chapter 1.

**Extraordinary**

Normal, for her, is becoming difficult to maintain.

She hasn't felt tension this thick since she first approached him about starting over together. It helped having Barrett there to chime in with a "Great idea, eh, Spikey?" and a good-natured throttle, er, pat to Cloud's back.

Later, she had experienced a moment of pure joy when Cloud had silently approached her, hovering over her left shoulder, his hand reaching out as if to still her busy hands, but he seemed to think better of it, leaning on his open palm, his eyes never meeting hers as he spoke of finally being with her. She jokingly reminded him that she'd always been with him.

There was no humor in his reply. "What I was thinking is kind of different."

She never did get to find out what "different" had meant. She knows now the reasons behind his leaving, although she still feels his isolating himself was not the most appropriate route to take, and if she is honest, she still is upset with him for it.

The bitterness can never last very long, though. Dissolved by memories of a an adolescent promise surprisingly kept, and his presence now, working to make up for lost time…with Denzel, and Marlene, and-

Perhaps now he will define "different". She is at once jubilant and terrified…and paranoid, always wondering just when "different" will begin.

* * *

She sometimes wakes at night, slipping out of her room to check on the kids, but she's only using that as an excuse to tip-toe the few steps down the opposite end of the hall.

He is peaceful when he sleeps now, his breaths soft and rhythmic. She wonders what it would be like to be able to wake up beside him, to feel the rise and fall of his chest against her palm, her cheek.

She can watch for only a minute or so before guilt over her silent intrusion forces her back to her own room, shivering against cold sheets.

* * *

The children try to help, in their own way. She wonders if she and Cloud's stalled relationship is worth rescuing if it's so obviously in need of assistance from a prepubescent audience. Sometimes, she suspects the prompts of meddlesome adults, and wonders just how much is said when Marlene answers a call from Barrett or Yuffie.

Case in point.

Still stalwart in her attempts at normalcy, Tifa prides herself on morning routine. It's a dance, in a way, elegantly choreographed so that children are fed, dressed, and out the door with bagged lunches and packed satchels in plenty of time. Nothing is more gratifying than a smooth morning; most normal mothers would agree.

And lately, the children have taken to bestowing a delightful peck on the cheek or squeeze 'round the waist before heading out. Tifa never was one to turn down any display of affection, and this new habit made morning just more normal.

This morning is somewhat different, in that Cloud is there to see the kids off. His first delivery isn't due until 10, and so here he is, reaching behind Tifa to grab Marlene's lunch box from the bar. Tifa gives Denzel his, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Marlene surprises Cloud with with a quick hug around his midsection.

Their eyes meet briefly, her smile widening at the look on his face before she lets out a hurried, "Oh, I almost forgot!" She pivots, leaning over the bar to grab a small paper bag before turning back to hand it to Cloud. He takes it from her hesitantly, one brow raised in a silent question.

"Oh, it's lunch. Your lunch." A first, since he usually leaves long before the kids. She figures he might appreciate the gesture, to include him in the routine.

Marlene giggles from where she stands with Denzel, the two eying them mischievously. "I helped, Cloud. I think you'll like it."

"Huh." He takes a moment to peek in the bag, one corner of his mouth twitching up before his warm gaze flickers from Marlene, then to Tifa. She thinks the morning couldn't be more perfect, nearly five minutes to spare before the kids needed to be out the door, and an almost smile from Cloud, to boot.

"Well, go on." This from Denzel, who's shouldering his backpack. He's speaking to Cloud, who shifts his gaze from Tifa, then back again, as if she knows what he's talking about. Her smile is gone, and she can only offer a small shrug before Marlene pipes in.

"Give her a kiss!"

Tifa feels her stomach rise, as if the floor has given way, and yet it does not swallow her, as much as she'd like it to. She is frozen, wondering if he thinks she's somehow put them up to it, watching his face blink dumbly at Denzel and Marlene. And now he's straightening, and oh, no, he's going to look at her, and now would be a good time to _do_ something-

She turns her eyes on the kids so quickly she can feel her hair fly out around her. "C'mon, now, I don't think it's fair to put him on the spot. Besides," she adds, satisfied at how casual she sounds, feeling the ground solidify beneath her once again, "That's more like a mommy thing."

"Well, Cloud's like our Daddy, isn't he?" Marlene queries, looking up to Denzel, who's nodding his agreement. "Don't mommies and daddies kiss each other?"

That kid doesn't miss a beat.

"Marlene-" she begins a soft, subtle warning, only to be cut off by the feel of a warm hand, fingers curling about her nape to gently coax her forward, and before she can turn her head, she feels his breath, warm and sweet against her cheek, followed by his lips, smooth and dry and undemanding. Unconsciously, she closes her eyes, her entire being focused on this one moment, and like all moments, it is over much too soon, and she keeps her eyes on the floor, silently cursing her inability to just look at him, because after all these years shouldn't she be used to those eyes by now?

His hand doesn't linger, and her skin is tingling, reminding her of his touch now that it's over, and she hears him say good-naturedly to the kids, "Better?"

_Oh, yes._

She finds it pleasantly amusing that three more days that week, he is there for the morning routine, each time bestowing a chaste kiss in return for his lunch, twice on her hand, once on her cheek. She finally finds the courage to look at him after the third time, and feels her breath catch, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest, because she's caught him looking at her mouth. He turns to leave without meeting her gaze, and she is left in his wake, gasping.

* * *

The next week finds her sleepless, yet again. Cloud had missed dinner because of a delay, and though he'd phoned to say as much, his absence has quashed her appetite. And so she is hungry at 3 AM, digging through the fridge for leftovers, settling down to eat at the bar, opting for a cold beer to wash it down. She's in the middle of said beer when she's interrupted by a voice from the stairwell.

"Tifa?"

She nearly chokes, but recovers quickly, clinging to the bottle in her hands like a lifeline as she watches him enter the bar. She wishes she'd bothered to grab her robe, feeling entirely too exposed in the tank top and cutoffs she now wore. Then again, remembering that Cloud had seen her in a wife beater and miniskirt, and in many a compromising position on more than one occasion, perhaps her night clothes aren't as risque as she thinks.

He scratches the back of his head, saying nothing else as he saunters over to her, and she wonders if he knows how seductive he is when he walks/talks/breathes, etc. She starts to straighten, uncertain why he's even up at this hour, but then again, she was up, too, so-

He casts her a cursory glance as he swings open the fridge. His back is to her as he leans into it, giving her the opportunity to ogle. He looks so much lighter without his usual attire. He straightens up then, and she has ample time to appreciate the width of his shoulders, the sinewy muscle beneath, upper back sloping into narrow hips with loosely clinging cotton drawstring pants…

"Anything good in here?"

_Uh-huh._

His question catches her off guard, and she stutters when she answers him. She blames it on lack of sleep. That, and his lack of more clothing. "Um, I-I made a roast…there's some vegetables on the bottom shelf."

Hastily, she finishes off the rest of the beer and tosses the bottle in the trash under the bar. She needs to get upstairs and in bed before she makes a fool of herself.

Seems he has other plans. When she turns around, he is leaning against the fridge, arms crossed, conveniently blocking her only route of escape, his piercing blue eyes made more eerie in the dim light of the surroundings. She makes as though she meant to stay, turning her back to the bar to lean against it, hands clenching the edge. She's sure her knuckles are white.

It's seems like ages before he speaks, and yet, she can't force herself to look up from a stain on the floor at her feet.

"I…I feel like I've been neglecting something."

The first thought in her mind is that he's worded it wrong, That he means he's neglected to tell, or to do something, but how would she knows what he's trying to say? Words are precious few with this one.

"Well, neglecting _someone._"

Oh, so, _someone_ obviously has to be one of the kids…and now that the topic is something neutral, and safe, she is finally able to look up at him, her posture a bit more casual, the muscles in her forearms relaxing. She is thankful her voice is even as she answers him. "I think you're doing fine. Denzel has been the happiest I've seen him-"

He pushes off, arms falling to his sides as he sidles up to stand next to her at the bar, and she shifts to face him, putting a bit more distance between them, though she hopes he doesn't notice. He's shaking his head, staring down at the polished wood surface before him.

And now she's confused, brow furrowing slightly, teeth worrying her bottom lip. "Marlene? She's perfectly happy just to have you to herself in the evenings, I don't think-"

She stops because he's shaking his head again, and this time, he's staring at her, and it takes her a few beats before a soft, "Oh" passes through her lips in understanding.

He straightens, turning his body to face her, one hand resting lightly on the bar. Every movement is in slow motion, and she thinks it's because he doesn't want to spook her, which is understandable, given her previous reactions to similar situations. The absurdity of it all, her desperate need for his attentions and yet her evasiveness given every opportunity, triggers a sudden swell of anger, mainly towards herself, and it's what she needs to propel her through this moment. She doesn't wait for him to make another move, sliding her hand along the edge of the bar, taking one step and twisting so that the bar rests at the small of her back, hands braced on either side. She's positioned herself between him and the bar-no way out. Not overly forward, but a sign she has no plans of running away this time.

She tries to remember the last time they were this close, when the air was this thick with things unsaid. It was the first time he had kissed her, had touched her, had held her, and for the last two years, it was all she had to cling to. She hopes she is right about what comes next.

Her movements have surprised him, his response slow, but eventually he turns towards her, and now she's surrounded by him, his hands against the bar, his chest so close she can feel his heat. She keeps her eyes glued to his face, able to make out every scar, every pore, and she is enthralled, watching him watching her. He takes his time, and she begins to blush under his scrutiny. When she can no longer hold his gaze, lids fluttering closed in silent surrender, her last thought is I hope my breath isn't too bad…

After that, she can no longer think.

His lips are warm, and so very gentle, as if he is still waiting for her to bolt on him. He makes no move to deepen the kiss, and she is happy to just be sharing the air between them, and so when he pulls back, she opens her eyes slowly, a small smile already turning up the corners of her mouth.

He smiles his sweet, subtle smile back, gaze flickering between her eyes and her mouth. She is surprised when he speaks, his voice throaty and low, each word a puff of air against her lips.

"We really should've done that sooner."

Her smiles widens as she nods slightly, eyes half-lidded. "Yeah."

* * *

AN: So, am I one of only a few that think that Cloud and Tifa totally had sex already by the time ACC takes place? Just trying to navigate through the whole thing. As a couple, they'd be so much easier to write if they'd been less enigmatic about it. Geez.


End file.
